


A Girl Like That

by geekprincess26



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: Sansa Stark had never, ever planned to be that girl - the one whose cheating loser of an ex-boyfriend knocked her up and dumped her out on the street.And she'd certainly never expected to run into a guy like Jon Snow only a month later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because the plot bunnies wouldn't leave me alone...ta-da! I originally intended it as a one-shot, but it came out more open-ended than I'd thought it would. I may revisit this universe at some point in the future.

“I’m pregnant.”

 

The heat that had been roiling in Sansa Stark’s chest all evening gushed straight up to her cheeks.  She clapped both hands over her traitorous mouth, but it was too late.

 

She hadn’t meant for the words to come out like that.  They just had.  Right out of her red-stained lips, there in the middle of the Red Keep, the nicest restaurant in King’s Landing.

 

Right in front of Jon Snow, the sweet, dreamy guy she’d been dating for less than three weeks.

 

Sansa’s brain let out a blue streak of curses.  She wanted to whip off one of her strappy black heels and shove it down her throat so she wouldn’t say anything else and screw up her life even more than she already head.

 

By the utterly bemused look coloring Jon’s face, she may as well have.

 

 _Gods damn it,_ why had she even agreed to meet him for dinner tonight?

 

She’d known better, she really had.  She’d paced up and down the hall of the studio apartment she’d just rented, at least as far as the boxes piled up all over it would allow.

 

After all, she hadn’t really had much of a choice but to vacate the shiny two-bedroom pad she’d shared with her terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad ex-boyfriend, Harry Hardyng, until two months ago – until the day when she’d come home from work early so she could cook him dinner as a surprise and found him in bed with two of his female co-workers. 

 

She would have loved to be the one to kick Harry out, but he owned the apartment, which meant she’d been left a sobbing mess in the first hotel room she could find.

 

Sobbing and, as it turned out, knocked up.

 

Of course, she hadn’t known about that back then – it had to have happened, she figured, right before she’d left Harry.  She’d had no way of knowing for a while.  She certainly hadn’t known the morning after, when her brother Robb had shown up with a few of his buddies, more than a few threats to certain parts of Harry’s anatomy, and two broad shoulders to cry on.  She hadn’t known when she’d moved into her new apartment the following week, after a week spent with her lifesaving best friend Margaery.  She hadn’t known during the first awful month, when she’d spent every night either cleaning with a vengeance or watching Netflix and crying. 

 

And she sure as hell hadn’t known three weeks ago, when, utterly sick of crying over Harry’s sorry ass, she had let Robb and Margaery take her out for drinks to rid her mind of it all.  She’d had much more fun than she’d expected – so much that she’d let them take her out again the following night.  This time they’d met at Hot Pie’s, the best pub in town, and Robb had brought Jon Snow, one of the friends who’d helped Sansa move out of Harry’s apartment.  Jon was as quiet as his dark curls were gorgeous and hadn’t said much the whole night, but he had agreed to share an order of spicy onion rings with her when neither Robb nor Margaery had wanted to, and when the waitress had tried to hit on him, he’d given her a bemused squint that nearly made Sansa laugh out loud for the first time in months.  When Margaery had yanked Robb over to the bar to chat with some friends of hers, Jon had stayed at the table with Sansa to trade _Star Wars_ theories, and when Robb and Margaery had both gotten a little tipsy, Jon had driven everybody home.

 

A couple of days later, they’d run into each other at the Maidenvault, Sansa’s favorite coffee shop, and they’d talked so long that she’d very nearly been late for work.  As she was leaving, Jon had asked for her number.  He’d blushed furiously, which Sansa had found equal parts endearing and appealing, and she’d blushed almost as furiously when she’d given it to him.  After all, she and Harry had only broken up a month before, and they’d been together for nearly three years.

 

Three _wasted_ years, Sansa had reminded herself.  Besides, she owed Harry less than nothing – he’d clearly moved on from her long before she’d left him.  If the gods and fates hadn’t wanted her to get what revenge she could, they shouldn’t have dropped such a gorgeous man right in front of her, even if she normally wasn’t that kind of girl.  And he was so _nice._   Nice and smart and, oh gods, those _curls –_

 

So she’d texted Jon and asked him to dinner.  When he texted her back and agreed, she squealed so loudly that Jeyne Westerling popped her head into Sansa’s cubicle to ask if everything was OK.

 

And after that, everything was better than OK.  Everything was used-book shops and homemade kettle corn and sci-fi trivia and playful arguments about how to make the best cup of espresso and binge-watching old Dornish soap operas and shy kisses over Jon’s old coffee table.

 

Until Sansa had realized her period was two months late.

 

She’d taken three pregnancy tests to make sure.  When they’d all turned up positive, she’d taken the afternoon off work to go to her doctor, who had confirmed the results.  Sansa had cried the whole way home.

 

She’d always wanted to be a mother more than she’d wanted anything else.  But she’d wanted a husband first, or at least a fiancé.  She’d wanted her life to be stable and steady and adult-like before bringing a baby into it.  She’d even been on birth control with Harry.  

 

She’d never wanted to be the girl whose cheating loser of a boyfriend left her unexpectedly pregnant.

 

She’d paced her apartment hallway for what seemed like hours alternately absorbing the finality of the doctor’s verdict, on the one hand, and, on the other, trying to woman up and tell Jon she couldn’t see him again.  After all, if she had the baby, and she found herself unable to picture doing anything else, she’d lose him – no guy in his right mind would want that kind of drama with a girl like her.  It wasn’t as if he’d think the baby was his, since they’d never even slept together – she hadn’t been ready for that, and Jon, who’d turned out to be more of a gentleman than all the guys she’d ever dated put together, hadn’t pushed her for it.  Maybe that was why she’d rather not bother with telling him now – her heart clenched inexplicably at the thought of his being disappointed in her.

 

But instead, she’d been unable to bear the thought of not seeing Jon again, and so she’d put on her best little black dress, shown up for their date, and blurted it all out to him – right here, in the middle of the Red Keep.  And much too loudly, if the sudden silence from the surrounding tables was any indication.

 

Sansa slouched in her chair, squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed that the floor would open up and swallow her and her stiletto heels whole.

 

But the floor stayed intact, and the chatter from the surrounding tables resumed, and something warm brushed lightly against Sansa’s arm.  She jerked upright and saw through her suddenly wet eyes that it was Jon’s hand.

 

“Sansa.”

 

She barely heard his voice.  At first she thought she’d imagined it, and she reached up with her right hand to brush away the tears leaking out of her eyes.

 

“Sansa.”  Nope, she definitely hadn’t imagined his voice.  After just three weeks, she’d nearly learned it by heart.  It was low and quiet and as warm as his hand, as soft and lilting as Harry’s had always been reedy and monotone, and finally Sansa made herself look up far enough to see his eyes.  They were even warmer, but his next words still took her by surprise.

 

“Are you OK?”

 

Sansa’s left hand, which had up to this point still been clapped over her mouth, dropped to the table.  She blinked again.

 

“Huh?”  That came out as loudly as had her previous exclamation.  Good gods, she had a way with words tonight.

 

“I mean – ”  She blinked and hiccupped and wiped away more tears.  Best to rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with.

 

“I mean, not yours – it’s Harry’s – I didn’t know until today, and oh, _gods_ , I shouldn’t have said anything – I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to involve you in any of this, you’re too nice, I shouldn’t have said – I’m sorry, Jon.”

 

More tears sprouted from Sansa’s eyes.  She began to stand, but just as quickly, the room began to wobble around her, and she tumbled forward.

 

Right into Jon.

 

“Hey.”  One hand released its grip on her elbow and reached up to brush her hair back from her face.  “Sansa?  Are you all right?”

 

She should have said _yes_.  Or _yes, thank you, I can handle it, you can go,_ or anything remotely similar.

 

Instead, she made a very ugly sound trying to choke back a sob.  The other tables around them fell silent again.

 

“Um – ”  Jon glanced at one of them, and his cheeks colored.  Sansa told herself to back away, but before she could, Jon looked back at her.  “Would you rather talk about it somewhere else?  Hot Pie’s, maybe?  Spicy onion rings?”  Half his mouth quirked upward for just a moment, and he reached back to scratch his neck the way he had the night they’d first met, and Sansa blinked more tears away.  “Or back home?  If – you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

 

“You’re – you want to go out with me?”  Sansa grimaced.  Her bloody stupid tongue – but Jon’s mouth did another little quirk, and her heart stopped and started again, and she forgot to try backing away.

 

“If you’ll have me,” he said, and scratched his neck again.  Sansa gulped.

 

“Don’t you mean if you’ll have me?” she asked.  “After all – um – you really want to, to talk about – to – you want to do anything with me?”

 

Now she was the one blushing – for one thing, she’d put on a hell of a show for everyone within about ten tables of them, and for another, none of the exit plans she’d frantically made earlier that day had included Jon not wanting to run out the door.  Instead, he held out his arm.

 

“Yeah,” he said, and the other tables disappeared from Sansa’s field of vision, which narrowed to his lopsided mouth and the gray flecks in his eyes and his other hand reaching out to hold hers.  “I do.”

 

For a long moment Sansa held her hand back, waiting for him to take it back, or laugh her to kingdom come for thinking he’d been serious, or anything but stand there and wait for her. 

 

But he did stand there waiting, with his wrinkled eyebrows and his outstretched arm, which was steady as hell even if nothing else was at the moment, and Sansa waited no longer to nestle her hand into his.

 

“All right,” she said, and the other side of Jon’s mouth twitched upward to give her his full smile, and her swooping heart finally steadied its rhythm for the first time since gods knew when.  “I do too.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“So?”

 

Margaery Tyrell wiggled her wide brown eyebrows as only Margaery Tyrell could.

 

Sansa Stark took a hasty sip of water.  She knew what her best friend was about to ask.

 

“So – what?” she asked, just to get it over with.

 

Margaery rolled her eyes.  “So, you dolt, how was your date with Jon?”

 

Sansa took another sip as she clawed for an answer that would satisfy her friend while avoiding a repeat of what had happened in the Red Keep with Jon the prior evening.  Blurting out the news of her entirely unintended pregnancy to a man she’d known less than a month in the middle of King’s Landing’s finest restaurant was more than enough drams; she hardly needed to repeat the occurrence with Margaery in Visenya’s Hill, the city’s poshest brunch spot.

 

“It – it was – fine,” she said and felt her cheeks heating up, although not for the reason Margaery no doubt supposed.  In fact, it had been much finer than the glamorous romp in the sheets at which Margaery had been hinting.

 

_“Anywhere is fine, really,” she told Jon after he had escorted her a mercifully long block away from the doors of the Red Keep and asked her where she would like to go for dinner instead.  “I don’t mind.”_

_Jon tilted his head to the side in what Sansa had come to call one of his “deep-thinking” looks.  “What do you feel like eating?” he asked, and his voice was gentler than Sansa had ever heard it.  A sudden rush of moisture hit her eyes, and she turned her head so that Jon would not see it.  Her eyes landed at once on a nearby a Dragon’s Tail Subs sign, and she could not help smiling.  She and Jon had visited the ubiquitous chain sandwich store on their first date after she’d texted him from work to ask him to dinner._

_“How about here?” she asked.  Once again, the words had flown out of her mouth before she could stop them, but Jon did not seem to mind, since he turned to open the door for her at once.  At least she’d managed to avoid mentioning that they’d had their first date there, she thought as she entered the shop.  Harry had always rolled her eyes and called her sappy when she’d noticed details like that.  In fact, now that she thought about it, most of her previous boyfriends had._

_“Can I help you?” the boy behind the counter asked.  Sansa glanced over at Jon._

_“Do you need some time to decide?” he asked._

_Sansa blinked.  “Do you?”_

_Jon smiled, and Sansa’s lips could not help but turn upward in response._

_“No,” he said.  “I’m getting the steak sub with Baelerion’s Hot Sauce and chips.”_

_“Is that your favorite?”  Sansa asked.  Jon usually took a bit longer to decide about ordering food._

_Jon shrugged.  “One of them.  Tonight, I’m just getting what I would have gotten at the Red Keep.”_

_“A steak sub?”  Sansa hadn’t been to the Red Keep very many times, but the Red Keep would no sooner serve subs than pizza._

_Jon shook his head.  “The Dragon’s Tail version of what I would have had.  The tenderloin and potatoes au shallot.”  He offered her another lopsided smile.  “And the Dragon’s Tail kind is just as good.”  One corner of his mouth twitched back downward, as if he were afraid he’d said the wrong thing._

_“Oh.”  Sansa glanced upward at the shop’s menu.  “Then in that case, I’ll have the chicken cordon bleu parmesan sub.”  She smiled at Jon, who looked relieved._

_They placed their orders and headed off to the fountain to get their drinks.  Sansa couldn’t help wiggling her toes inside her right shoe, a nervous habit for which Harry had often chided her.  Maybe she should have ordered a salad instead of a footlong sub; she didn’t want Jon thinking she lacked all sorts of self-control and couldn’t be bothered to keep her figure slim._

_Sansa covered a snort with a cough.  It was a little late for her to be worrying about her figure.  Still, if Harry could see her now, he’d  –_

_“Sansa?  Do you want some Aegon’s Ale?”_

_Sansa blinked at Jon, who was gesturing toward the Jae’s Ale button on the drink machine._

_“Aegon’s Ale?”  She raised both eyebrows at Jon, who blushed and reached back to rub his neck._

_“Oops,” he said.  “Sorry.  I call it that to Robb because the guy who first made the recipe was named Aegon, and at first when he started marketing it he called it Aegon’s Ale, but then a couple of rich descendants of Aegon Targaryen complained and fought it in court because they said they were making their own ale and wanted to call it that, and they should have first go at the name because they were his descendants.”_

 

_Sansa rolled her eyes.  “I bet they did,” she laughed.  She’d forgotten she could use that level of sarcasm – Harry and Joffrey, the vicious asshole she’d dated before him, had accused her of talking back to them when she took that tone, no matter how humorously she’d tried to use it.  Jon, however, only grinned._

_“Right,” he said.  “But their lawyers…”_

 

Sansa was brought back to the present by the rapid rise of Margaery’s eyebrows.

 

“‘Fine’? As in, the universal term for boredom?  Or is there something you’re not telling me?”  Margaery cocked her head as she did when she got on the hunt for whatever information the person she was with was trying to hide.  _Ouch._   Sansa knew from experience that such information rarely remained hidden once that look appeared on her friend’s face.

 

“Well, no, we just decided – ”  Sansa was interrupted by the appearance of their waitress and breathed an internal sigh of relief, hoping however faintly that Margaery could be distracted somehow.  She hadn’t meant to tell anyone, not even her best friend, that she was pregnant by her disgusting slimeball of an ex, not until she had some sort of plan in place, not until she’d figured out whether she’d be moving into a bigger apartment to accommodate the baby, and how much car seats and formulas would cost, and how the hell she was going to work up the nerve to tell Harry, and, oh, gods, was she grateful that Jon Snow was not the type to spill her secret – or, as he’d proven last night, the type to grill her about what her plan for motherhood was. 

 

_Neither of them thought to mention her pregnancy throughout dinner, aside from Jon asking her earnestly if she was really all right and, after Sansa had assured him she was, continuing with the story of Aegon’s Ale.  After nearly two hours of eating and chatting, the subject only came up when Jon returned to the register to buy them cookies.  Sansa wanted to pay for them, but Jon waved her off._

_“It’s the least I owe you, after I put you through all that tonight,” she protested, cursing herself for being weak enough to let him pay for dinner and dessert when she should just let him go and find another girl, a halfway decent girl this time, but Jon only shook his head._

_“You put my stomach through the best sub I’ve had in ages,” he said and gave her another of his lopsided smiles, and Sansa said nothing more about it._

_She did thank him again, though, once they reached her apartment._

_“You really shouldn’t have,” she said.  “You’ve done way more than I had a right to expect from you, considering everything.  You – ”  She bit her lip.  She needed to let him off the hook – gods knew she should have tried earlier.  “You’ve been great, as great as my best friend would have been.  You don’t need to do any more for me.”_

_Jon rocked back on his heels, looking surprised and a little hurt.  For a moment, Sansa thought he would turn away, but instead he looked back up at her and gave his head a quick shake, as though debating with himself._

_“Yeah, I should,” he finally replied.  “And – ”  He reached back to rub his neck, which looked a little pinker than usual in the weak light from the very subpar light Sansa’s landlords had installed above her door._

_“I – if – if you don’t want to be any more than friends right now with the baby and everything – or whatever you decide to do about it, I – it’s OK,” he murmured, so quietly that Sansa had to lean toward him to hear him better.  “I’ll help you out with whatever you like, because I – I like you, and I’d rather you be happy.”_

_His shoulders tilted up, and then down, but his eyes stayed steadily on hers, and tears sprang unbidden into Sansa’s eyes.  She wiggled her toes inside her shoes and waited for her body to turn back and unlock the door and leave the poor man to try again with a girl without her drama and without the bullheaded determination to have a baby fathered by a complete dickwad at the worst possible time in her life._

_Instead, she reached her hands into his curls and kissed him._

“Earth to Sansa.”  Margaery’s hand waved in front of Sansa’s eyes.  Sansa reluctantly pulled her  mind away from the memory of Jon’s little gasp and his lips on hers and his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek tenderly and his fingers running through her hair and his other hand dipping around her waist and the solid warmth of his chest making her cheeks burn as much as they were burning now.  She turned her gaze upward to meet the waitress’s questioning face, and then back down to her menu, which she had utterly neglected so far.

 

“Um – I’ll have the Rhaenys’s Crown omelet – and a coffee please,” she said, and held out her menu to the waitress.

 

“What kind of mimosa?”  Margaery asked, one of her eyebrows raised and her tone a good deal more suspicious than Sansa liked.

 

_Oh, shit._

 

Visenya’s Hill offered a variety of flavored mimosas, and Sansa ordered at least one every time she met Margaery there for brunch, but of course she couldn’t do that any more, not for at least seven months.  Or caffeine – she remembered how Mum had always had decaffeinated coffee when she’d been pregnant with Sansa’s younger siblings.

 

_Oh, gods, Mum.  Oh, gods, no, she can’t know – and Dad – oh,_ no _–_

 

“None, thanks,” she told the waitress once she had willed that thought further back into her already buzzing mind.  “And decaf on the coffee, please.”

 

No sooner had the girl nodded and swept away than Margaery rounded on her friend with both eyebrows raised higher than Sansa had ever seen them.

 

“All right,” she said, her tone the type of brisk she normally reserved for the most difficult clients she encountered at family’s law office.  “Either you’ve gotten better at not acting hungover, or – ”

 

Sansa shook her head.  “Marg, I’m fine.  I didn’t even drink last night, all right?”

 

She bit her tongue as soon as the words had left her mouth.  Margaery’s eyes narrowed.

 

“What do you – Oh!”

 

They widened just as suddenly as Margaery set down her water glass.  At any other time, Sansa would have burst out laughing at the comically stricken look on the ever-elegant Margaery Tyrell’s face.

 

“You – Sansa Stark, are you _pregnant_?”

 

Instead of laughing, Sansa burst out crying – whether from relief, fear, pregnancy hormones, the odd wish that it was Jon’s hand she felt rubbing her back rather than her best friend’s, she did not know or care. 

 

“Oh, sweetie.”  Sansa felt Margaery sitting down next to her just as the other girl gently pulled Sansa’s head down onto her shoulder.  “Oh, sweetie.”

 

After a few minutes, Sansa’s sobs stopped as suddenly as they had started.  She reached for her napkin and dabbed at her eyes and nose with it until Margaery had produced a pack of tissues from her purse so Sansa could blow her nose in earnest.  No sooner had Sansa finished than the waitress returned with their drinks.

 

“Are you OK?”  Margaery asked once the girl had left.  “And I mean _really_ OK, Sansa Stark.  As in, do you want the grocery store and a sleepover, and how often do you want me to stop by your office next week to bring you snacks, and/or am I taking you to see any kind of health care provider you like?”

 

A smattering of stifled giggles escaped unbidden from Sansa’s lips.  Margaery only said the phrase “and/or” when she really meant business.

 

“No, I mean, um, thanks, Marg,” she replied when she could speak again.  “I mean, I’m fine for now.  I’m not going to get sick on the table or anything.  I just need some time, and – yeah, time, is all.”

 

Margaery tilted her head.  “I’ll only ask once,” she said, “but – Jon?”  Seeing Sansa’s confused look, she added, “I mean, is it Jon’s?”

 

Sansa shook her head rapidly.  “No,” she said, and cleared her throat to rid it of the lump that had suddenly sprung up there.  Margaery’s eyes narrowed into slits.

 

“Shitface?” she asked, her voice lowering nearly to a hiss.  Sansa nodded.  Margaery’s lips tightened.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, and Sansa nodded.

 

“Me too,” she said, and then sighed as another thought sprang from the panicked recesses of her mind.  “But Marg, please don’t tell Robb, OK?  I can’t – I don’t want him to know just yet.”

 

Margaery pinched her fingers in front of her lips.  “Of course not,” she said.  “Although you might not want to go out to the pub with us tonight, then.  I mean, he’s a man, which means normally he wouldn’t notice till you’re showing, but he is your brother.  He’ll notice you’re not drinking eventually.”

 

Sansa groaned and lowered her forehead to her hands.

 

_Oh, gods, no, no,_ no.

_If he figures out it’s Harry – oh, gods._

_Oh, shit._

_Oh,_ really _shit…_


End file.
